


Le Fil

by Dangereux



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangereux/pseuds/Dangereux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by another fabulous prompt from thetravelingkid: "Delphine is an important person at a party, and Cosima is the bartender who hits on her with no idea who she is."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Fil

**Author's Note:**

> The Queen of the Absurd AUs has returned. I wrote this in July but my life has been fairly ridiculous since then, so I never got around to posting it. I'd like to thank thetravelingkid, and delphemeral for sending me positive messages that finally helped me get around to posting this. And I'd especially like to thank nerd-a1ert for kicking my ass, as always. Hope you like it.

These goddamned parties are always the same.

The tinkling of glassware, the falsetto of forced laughter, the click of expensive high heels on vintage hardwood. Always in a large space with minimalist design, always freezing, and never enough food. You sigh, a quick sound of exasperation, and meet your own eyes in the bathroom mirror, attempting to psyche yourself up for what threatens to be yet another painful evening. Leaning against the long marble counter, you try to rearrange your features into some semblance of happiness, though so far your attempts at doing so are barely managing to convince yourself.

You remind yourself that you’re okay, that this is a joyous occasion – you turn the word over in your mind – _joy, joy, joy._ (Though if you’re being honest you’re not feeling _that_ okay, and maybe you haven’t actually been _that_ okay in a long time, but that’s not something you can even begin to think about right now.)

You look good at least, there’s no question about that. Your hair is in a perfectly executed chignon, your high cheekbones accentuated with just the right amount of blush, your serious mouth painted with ferocious red lipstick. Add in the black evening gown with a plunging backline and some lethal high heels, and you look exactly the part.

D. Cormier, attorney at law.

And now, the youngest woman –youngest _anyone_ –to make partner at the most respected law firm in the city.  

You hadn’t meant to go into corporate law. Maybe you’ve always been a fairly serious person, but even you had been an idealist at one time. In a futile attempt to rebel against your parent’s wishes, you had initially gone to law school dreaming of defending grassroots organizations and being a part of environmental legislation. But the staggering load of your student loans and the pittance you got paid articling for a local non-profit was enough to turn your head to the gleaming and merciless world of corporate law.  And you’d found you were good at it. Really good.

With your innate ability to read people, your shrewd business sense (the only worthwhile thing your parents ever taught you), and your natural charm you found yourself quite at home amongst your more seasoned coworkers. And you love it. The satisfaction of closing a deal, the thrill of sleuthing out loopholes in legal documentation, hell even the clothes.

Still, nights like these always prove to be dull affairs. You may love the work, but the people you work with are another story altogether. First of all, they’re predominately men. Not that you have anything against men in general, but the ones drawn to corporate law have a tendency to be –for lack of a better term – complete assholes. Arrogant, brash, competitive. The few women you work with seem determined to pit themselves against each other, to prove they can hold their own amongst their male counterparts. As much as the cutthroat attitude thrills you when it comes to your work, you like to be able to turn it off. You pride yourself on still having an underlying softness to you, a warmth. Unfortunately it seems you are alone in feeling this way, and it’s starting to get to you.

The loneliness.  

You’re afraid that you’re starting to become as hard as your coworkers and it’s been bothering you more and more lately. Some days you think you’re starting to feel it happening, deep inside you. A coldness in your chest that seems to grow with each passing day. Sometimes you’re sure you can feel ice starting to form around your heart. Beautiful, miniscule, diamond crystals of indifference.

 You shake your head because you’re doing it again, being not okay, and ruminating on this subject is exactly the opposite of what you’d intended to do when you came in here for your little pep talk. With a last breath you square your shoulders and put your game face on, touching up your lipstick and unnecessarily smoothing your hair before striding confidently into the grand room your firm has rented out. They spared no expense – they never do, and they can afford not to – hiring a private catering company and securing the entire top floor of a swanky, downtown building in the financial district. You know the second you walk in the room, surrounded by Good Old Boys with women half their age hanging from their arms, that you are going to need a drink. A large one. And why shouldn’t you get a little drunk, anyway?

This party is for you, after all.

__________________________________________________________________________________

You see waiters carrying trays of champagne and wine around the room, but quickly decide that your level of wariness warrants something a little stronger, and make your way to the bar instead.  Halfway across the room you’re stopped by a pot-bellied man who has unsuccessfully tried to hide his girth beneath a charcoal smoking jacket. His sweaty palm grips the crook of your elbow as you pass, “Delphine, where do you think you’re going? I’ve got a whole line up of people waiting to congratulate you!”

You pull your mouth into a smile and manage to keep the irritation out of your voice as you reply “Of course, Mr. Medina”, allowing him to drag you around the room, introducing you to various law firm partners from around the city. You shake hands, you schmooze, you allow their gazes to rake down your body until you’re nearly sweating with disgust. You tilt your head back and laugh modestly at yet another cringe-worthy joke. All this, you manage to do with a smile on your face. You know how to play this game, and you play it well.

At last, you manage to wrench your arm from the clammy grip of your new business partner, lost in some argument about a golf game, and stride over to the bar without delay, trying to keep yourself from breaking into a light jog. You can’t help the small sigh that escapes your mouth as you slide onto the barstool, plunking your black sequined clutch purse down on the mahogany, allowing your chin to sink to your chest.

“Having that much fun, huh?”

You look up in surprise and see the bartender you hadn’t even noticed watching you with an air of amusement on her face, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair is in dreadlocks, pulled up into a neat bun, and she is wearing a white button up shirt with a black bowtie. She has rebelliously rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, revealing several tattoos and some chunky jewellery. She looks like the exact opposite of the people that you’re surrounded by in your daily life. That alone is enough to lift your spirits a notch or two.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask wryly, propping your elbows on the bar.

“Trust me,” the girl leans towards you, voice lowered as her eyes flick to the crowd, “I’ve been to enough of these stuffy parties to know that no one ever actually enjoys them. It’s like an endurance trial to see who can pretend they’re having the most fun while simultaneously feeling dead inside.”

You let out a laugh of surprise at the girl’s apt insight, the first genuine laugh of the night. “You are very right about that,” you sigh again, feeling yourself leaning further over the dark, shining wood of the bar, feeling yourself pulled like a magnet towards this person. “I guess I don’t have very much endurance then.”

“Well you know, a stiff drink always helps in these situations,” the bartender offers. “Now let me guess….” She eyes you critically, her warm, dark eyes roving up the length of your lithe frame. Somehow, unlike your male colleagues, this doesn’t bother you in the least. On the contrary, under her scrutiny you feel a heat creeping across your chest, your cheeks. “I’m gonna say…” she taps a black-painted fingernail against her bottom lip, “…scotch on the rocks.”

Your eyebrows raise, and you feel a delighted smile stretching across your face. “How did you know that?!”

The girl shrugs, a cocky, crooked smile on her face. “It’s a gift,” she answers simply, pouring out the drink. She slides it across the counter and you manage to scoop it up gracefully, taking a sip.

“I think most people would assume I’m into something more traditionally feminine, like martinis,” you muse, almost to yourself.

“Well, I’m not most people,” the woman responds, smiling warmly. Somehow, when she says it, it doesn’t sound like a line.

You take a good look at her, and the girl doesn’t look away. That intrigues you, as you know most people can’t handle being scrutinized by your intense gaze for long. It’s something you pride yourself on, something that has won you many an argument in fact. You take another long sip, letting your eyes trail over the small, sweet angles of the other woman’s body. “No, you are not,” you conclude at last. You’re met with an answering grin. You continue to sip your drink, watching the girl dry out some glasses with a cloth, and she doesn’t seem to mind that you’re staring.

“So, did you get dragged here against your will or something?” she asks. “By your boyfriend? Or girlfriend?” she adds diplomatically.

You bite your lip, twisting your drink in your hand. Something about the weary look in her eyes as she’d eyed the crowd makes you hesitate to reveal that the party she’s working at is actually for you. “In a manner of speaking,” you reply vaguely. “Though I’m not here with a partner,” you add. You feel it’s important that this girl knows you are not here with anyone. Very important.

The girl nods, and her eyes have started to gleam at your confession. “Well, whatever the reason is, I’m sorry. No one deserves to have to spend an evening packed in a room with lawyers unless they’re getting paid,” she chuckles with a wry grin. You laugh, though you feel a heaviness in your chest at the comment.

“How do you know they’re lawyers?” you ask, feeling nervous to hear her answer. There’s nothing written anywhere to say what kind of a corporate party this is, you’re sure.

The girl shrugs, “I can just tell. I come from a whole family of them so you get to know, you know?”

“You do? Really?” you’re nearly draped across the bar now, drawn in like a moth to a flame. If she comes from a family of lawyers then she can’t possibly find them all that bad. (Not that you’re worried. Not that you care.)

The girl laughs, “Yeah, but they’re nothing like these types,” she indicates the black-tie crowd with a wave of her hand, and your heart sinks a little. “They’re a bunch of hippies, really. They do a lot of pro-bono stuff, my mom is an activist in feminism so she does a lot of sexual harassment suits, title IX shit. My dad is into human rights stuff.” She rolls her eyes, pouring a glass of wine for a waiting patron. “Neither of them are very business minded so they’ve never really made much of a living of it, but. I’m still proud of them.” The girl smiles at the customer who has just dropped a bill in her tip jar, then grabs a cloth to wipe the counter down. She seems to be doing it to keep her hands busy, and despite the fact that she’d probably never take you up on it if she knew who you were, the thought crosses your mind that you have many other suggestions about how to keep her hands busy.

“That’s very admirable,” you smile, trying to school your features so they don’t betray your thoughts, which are mildly shocking, even to you. You haven’t thought this way about someone since college.

“Yeah,” she nods, “everyone was like, shocked when I didn’t follow in their footsteps. I’m working on my PhD in evolutionary development.” She tilts her head back, her nose ring glinting in the soft light. “But I’ve always been way more into the sciences than social stuff.” She shrugs a shoulder, “Plus I already have two sisters who are lawyers so I kinda felt like I had to do my own thing. My parents were really understanding though,” she adds, flashing a dimpled smile across the counter.

You nod, rapt. This girl has shared more about her life in a few minutes than you have with anyone in the last three years, and she seems to realize that because her cheeks redden a bit, and your heart flutters in your chest at the image. “Sorry, god, I just totally overshared didn’t I? I tend to like, go on tangents sometimes, sorry,” she apologizes again, shaking her head in self-deprecation.

“No, no,” you laugh, “Not at all. It’s nice. Having someone to talk to.” A flicker of confusion crosses her face, but before she can ask – and thank goodness because you don’t want to even think about going down that road with her – you find yourself speaking again. “It must be nice to have parents that encourage you to follow your heart.” You blow out a breath. “My parents are the exact opposite, you know.” You feel compelled to give something back to this girl, this person who has just warmly and willingly shared her life with you like an open book, with no indication of expecting anything in return. So even though every instinct is telling you to _shut up_ you continue to speak. “They pushed me very hard. It was always ‘Delphine, you must make a good living,’ ‘Delphine you must always strive to be the best.’ Very tiresome, after a while.” You plink your fingernails against your glass, nervous after sharing this much of yourself.

“Your name is Delphine?” the girl asks, her eyes warm, interested. “I like that,” she adds with a tilt of her head. She seems to snap out of her thought process, shaking her head briefly. “That sounds pretty tough. I know I’m like, super lucky to have such laid back parents.”

You smile and are about to ask what her name is when a booming voice sounds over your shoulder. “Delphine, there you are!” You turn on your chair to see Mr. Medina of _Medina & O’Malley_ (and now Cormier) Associates wheezing breathily next to you. “Get over here, Gary wants to talk to you.” You feel yourself wilting, as you turn back to your new friend ( _friend?_ ) who is smiling at you sympathetically.

The girl leans forward and tops up your drink. “Come back for a break any time,” she whispers with a wink. You smile gratefully, taking your drink and heading over to the tight knot of dark suits that are waiting for you eagerly. You’re sure you can feel those warm, dark eyes on your back as you walk across the room. The further you get from the bar, the more a tightness starts to grow in your chest, as though you’re being separated from something important, a deep and quiet part of yourself. This aching feeling haunts you as you’re dragged into yet another conversation about the Duncan account. You find glimpses of those dimples weaving through your mind, and you’re fumbling your words. You shake your head, determined to focus.

_Get a grip, Delphine._

_____________________________________________________________________________________

At long last, you’re able to excuse yourself from the conversation and immediately stride in the direction of the bar, hearing the uncontrolled excitement in the sharp click of your heels as you do so. But as you approach, you can see that the woman is gone. You look around, your insides hollow with disappointment as the tall male that has taken her place refreshes your drink. You consider asking where his counterpart has gotten to, but for some reason you can’t bring yourself to do it. You know you’re being foolish. It was a five minute conversation.

There’s no point in making it into something more.

You tilt your chin up in defiance, refusing to let this bother you, and decide it is high time you had a cigarette. You walk to the tall, glass door that leads onto the massive rooftop terrace and push it open, the chilly breath of the nighttime breeze rushing over your skin. You shiver, though it is with pleasure rather than discomfort, and start to dig out your cigarettes and lighter from your clutch. You grip your cigarettes in one hand as you frantically start to paw through your purse, realizing that you’ve forgotten to pack your lighter. “Ah, _putain!_ ” your curse echoes across the balcony, followed by the childish stomping of your heel on the cement.

“Need a light?” a soft voice asks from over your shoulder.

You scream, a high pitched and girlish yelp, as you spin in place. Clutching at your chest, you see the girl, the bartender, watching you with amusement from a bench some feet away. Behind her, the lights of the city are gleaming like stars, casting the angles of her face into shadow. The girl takes a long drag of something that smells distinctly unlike a cigarette, the cherry of her joint glowing like a hot coal. Your heart seems to leap in your chest at the sight of her, as if it is straining against the confines of your ribcage, wanting to be nearer to this person. You feel yourself being drawn like a magnet towards her as you try to regain your composure. “You scared me,” you scold, not knowing what else to say. What do you say to the person that has, in a matter of minutes, caused such an upheaval inside of you?

You hear a laugh, deep and husky, and imagine rather than see the accompanying grin. “I saw that. Come here, I’ll help you out.” Your stomach clenches at the ambiguous nature of the statement as you slowly walk forward. You feel as though you’re being reeled in, as though there is a thin, silver thread that stretches from this mysterious girl and connects with your chest, its tendrils wrapping tightly around your body. You come to sit next to her and you can smell the warm and earthy smell of her, and you find you can’t bring yourself to say a word. The girl digs in her pocket and pulls out a small, pink plastic lighter. “Come here,” she repeats, and you shift your body closer, until your hips are touching, leaning forward with your cigarette in between your lips.

The lighter clicks and a small flame bursts out, flickering in the wind. You automatically reach out and cup your hands around the girl’s, electricity shooting up your arms as your skin meets hers for the first time. You lean in and light your cigarette, taking a deep drag, before the flame disappears and you’re plunged once again into darkness. You mutter a soft thank you and lean back, finding yourself unable to look at this girl, feeling as though if you did your eyes, your body would betray you. But you can feel the girl’s eyes on you, and it makes you feel flushed, warm, alive. You both smoke in comfortable silence for a few minutes before the girl clears her throat, asking “So how are you holding up in there?”

You laugh sardonically, “I’ve had better nights.”

The girl nods, exhales a plume of smoke. “Yeah, the whole concept of these soirees seems exhausting. Everyone’s sort of putting on a show for each other. Like how many times do these dudes need to hear a woman fake-laugh at one of their shitty jokes?”

You chuckle, “The male ego is a very fragile thing, you know.”

She turns to you, her elbow propped on the back of the bench, head resting in her palm. “Well, I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with male egos.”

You feel your palms start to sweat with this somewhat ambiguous revelation. You keep your gaze fixed studiously on the sky, and manage to stop yourself from blurting out _who are you_ instead saying, “What is your name?”

The girl pauses for a beat, “It’s Cosima. I’m Cosima.”

“Cosima,” you repeat. You turn your head at last to meet the other woman’s eyes in the dark and immediately find yourself saying “I am so glad you’re here.” You feel yourself inwardly cringing at the confession and can’t believe that you, a ruthless and feared corporate lawyer are gushing at the bartender –that you just met – for your own party.

Are you really that lonely?

You hear a small voice in the back of your mind immediately answer you - _yes._ But you aren’t lonely for people, you are always with people. You are longing for a connection. And this girl, this Cosima, has a connection with you that is almost tangible. You go to take another drag of your cigarette and realize you’ve smoked it down to the filter.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Cosima replies, and you breathe a sigh of relief. She shifts a fraction closer, stretches her arm out so it lays across the length of the bench behind your back. “So how did you end up at this party, anyway?” she asks, offering you the joint. You hesitate briefly before thinking _to hell with it_ and taking it between your fingers.

You sigh at her question, trying to ignore the warmth from Cosima’s arm radiating across your bare shoulders. You’re about to answer her honestly when you’re reminded of the disdain on her face when she talked about the black tie crowd you belong to, and the words she used to describe them – _these people._ You’re not ashamed of your job, you’re very proud of what you do, but her eyes are dark and her arm is warm against your back and you are so, so tired of being alone and so you find yourself saying “Well, I work for Medina and O’Malley.” There. That’s not a lie. You do work for them. Or you did. Now you work with them, but you’re not about to get into semantics with yourself. “Though some days I find myself wishing I didn’t.” You pause for a moment, surprised at what you’ve just said, because you realize it’s true.

“How come?” Cosima asks, and you feel her thumb graze across the bare skin of your shoulder. You have to fight to keep your eyes from fluttering shut as you shake your head, waving the hand holding the lit joint as you try to find the words.

“I don’t know. I like the work. But the people are…difficult. They always want something from you. You can’t say anything you’re thinking without the risk of being manipulated.” You take a deep hit of the joint, blow it out slowly as you ruminate. “They all treat life like it’s this ruthless game that you have to play, one that it’s perfectly acceptable to sacrifice your morals and principles for.” You glance at Cosima, who is watching you intently. “They don’t seem to realize that this game never actually ends, and there is no winner. Only round after endless round.”

Cosima reaches over and plucks the joint out of your hands, taking a hit. “Shit, that’s complex.”

You smile to yourself. “Most of the time it’s fine. I’m used to it. It just gets to me after a while, because I can’t be myself. It gets a bit…lonely.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m here,” Cosima says softly, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

Your chest feels tight and you’re sincerely hoping that Cosima can’t feel your breath quickening against her arm. You want very much to reach over in the dark and press your lips to the first bit of her that you can find. You make a small noise of agreement and let your head fall back and rest on Cosima’s arm, your heart rushing as she sidles closer, pulls you tighter against her body.  After a brief silence you find yourself talking again, because if you let the quiet stretch on any more you know you’ll say something embarrassing. You’ve been thinking of your dreams of environmental law, and of her parents. “Cosima, how close are you to the person you imagined you’d grow up to be? When you were a little girl, I mean.” You realize the question is personal, and you would never have asked a stranger this a few hours ago, but she’s been so open and warm and so you think she won’t mind, really.

“Getting philosophical?” she chuckles, her body shaking softly. “Now I know you’re stoned.”

You laugh and smack her knee playfully. “Come on, tell me. If you want to,” you add, just to be safe. You don’t take your hand away from her knee, instead sweeping your thumb across the fabric of her pants. She shivers against you and you feel a thrill of triumph that you were able to do that to her.

Cosima takes a final hit and sticks the remnants of the joint in the ashtray. “Well, I wanted to be Luke Skywalker, so,” she giggles, smoke curling from her nostrils, “I’m way off the mark.”

You laugh, a deep, satisfying belly laugh, your fingers now curling around the soft flesh of her thigh. The two of you clutch at each other as you rock with silent laughter, tears starting to leak out of the corner of your eyes. As you began to draw gasping breaths, you’re interrupted by the clearing of a throat, and your laughter dies on your lips. Standing with his arms crossed in front of him, is Sian O’Malley, the other partner to your new firm. He is younger than Medina, a pale and humorless man with jet black hair and an icy gaze that is currently trained on you with an air of disdain.  You realize you and Cosima are nearly wrapped around each other and you sit up straight.

“Delphine,” he begins, “Medina and the others are looking for you. I can see that you’re _busy_ ,” he says condescendingly, “but when you have a moment, it would be great if you could come back inside. I don’t think I have to remind you that this party is for you, after all.”

Sobering instantly, you nod your head in agreement, pulling your face into a tight smile. “I’ll be right there.” O’Malley turns on his heel without a word and returns to the party, the music and buzz of the chatter rushing over you both momentarily as the door opens, and then muting again as it shuts.

Cosima looks at you with disbelief. “This party is for _you?!_ ” she asks, incredulous.

You feel your chest welling with panic at the look on Cosima’s face and your mouth drops open as your eyes search her face. “Technically. Though they really just love an excuse to show off their wealth to anyone who will pay attention,” you add. “But yes, they are…making me a partner to their firm.”

“You’re a lawyer!?” Cosima gapes. “A _corporate_ lawyer?”

You nod wordlessly, a lump in your throat.

“Oh,” Cosima answers, the disappointment etched into her features. “Wow, I feel like a total asshole. I’ve only been like, trash talking all your colleagues.”

“Oh, Cosima, don’t! Please don’t. I am the asshole,” you stammer, having to stop yourself from grabbing at Cosima who is now standing as if to leave. “It was just so nice to talk to someone who is genuine, and real, for once. I didn’t want to tell you in case you felt the need to censor yourself, on my account.”

“So you manipulated me. Like your coworkers do to you.”

You feel your bottom lip about to tremble and you can’t believe that you’re feeling this emotional over someone you just met but the look on her face feels like a knife to your chest. “Please, Cosima, I’m so sorry. I never meant it like that. I just wanted to…” you were about to say _to be your friend_ but you realize how idiotic that sounds.

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Cosima nods, sticking her hands in her back pockets. “Anyway, it sounds like you have to get back, and my break was over like ten minutes ago, so,” she jams a thumb in the direction of the bar and takes a large step backwards, “I better…”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you can feel your throat constrict with frustration, though you flat out refuse to cry because Delphine Cormier does not cry over people she has just met a few hours ago. You push your emotions aside and plaster a tight smile on your face, though somehow you know Cosima will be able to see it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yes, of course.” You stand and stride past Cosima, refusing to look at her as you yank open the door and walk into the crowd. Stepping into the throng of people, you become immediately engaged in a conversation about plans for redecorating your new office. In that moment you know without a doubt, that you have never felt so alone in your entire life.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The night presses on, and you’re now counting down the minutes until it is a reasonable hour for you to bow out. You haven’t gone back to the bar, have refused to even look in that direction, since your interaction with Cosima outside. But you can feel that string, like a thin, gossamer thread, connecting her to you as you weave through the bustling crowd. You can practically see it glinting in the light from the chandelier, weaving through the warm bodies, stretching taut as you push further away from where you know Cosima stands at the bar.

You’d let your guard down for a moment, had let that thin layer of ice around your heart melt for just a second, and all it had brought you was an even vaster emptiness. In between chatter about office politics and the various canapés served that evening, you work furiously to let that ice overtake you once and for all, to freeze the blood in your veins so you don’t have to feel anything else, ever again. You decide that you don’t want to keep that softness you’ve been harboring, because to be soft is to be vulnerable.

You glance at your phone and note the time, decide that you’ve put yourself through enough for one night and start to make your exit. After you’ve made your goodbyes you head for the elevator, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead, resolutely ahead, never once letting your eyes linger to your left where you feel a pair of dark eyes watching you. You see movement, think you might hear your name, but you don’t look or acknowledge it, because it really is better this way.

You’re better this way.

Safer this way.

You step on the elevator and don’t turn around as you hear heavy footsteps nearing. The sound of your name, urgent, is the last thing you hear before the doors close and you’re plunged into silence. You take a breath, lean your head on the cool elevator wall, and try to ignore the tightness in your chest. You try not to let it bother you, try not to think about it or anything at all.

Because, you tell yourself, you really are okay.

For a minute, you believe it.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The following month is a blur. Between setting up your new office and adjusting to life as a partner at the firm, you’ve barely had time to eat. You’re actually fairly grateful for the distraction, because lately you’ve found when your mind is left to wander, it ends up places you’d rather not be. Places where warm, dark eyes are watching you. Where the feeling of fingers ghosting over your shoulder makes you shiver. You drive the thoughts of Cosima from your mind, because a fleeting moment between strangers shouldn’t have this effect on you, and so you’ve decided that it doesn’t, and that’s really all there is to it.

Safe with the knowledge that this little problem of yours has now been dealt with, you step out of your cab with the calm confidence you have so sorely been lacking the past few weeks and stride towards the restaurant where your coworkers await you. You’re meeting them to hammer out the details of an upcoming case, and you’d all mutually agreed that doing so over dinner would be infinitely better than yet another haphazard meal of Chinese take-out cartons strewn across the meeting room.

You step inside and immediately sense that something is off. There is a sudden, familiar ache in your chest. A twinge around your heart that makes you stop mid-step. Your mind is racing with the thought that this can’t possibly be what you think it is (obviously you’re just stressed out and probably need to get your blood pressure checked) when the sound of your name tears you from your panic. You look up and your colleagues are waving you over to a table in the far corner of the room. Dazed, you start walking towards them and that’s when you see her. Cosima. Sitting at a small table against the wall not too far from where your workmates are seated. Her eyes are on you too, have clearly been tracking your progress through the room, and you wonder if she’d felt it the moment you’d walked inside, but you dismiss that thought as quickly as it comes, because that kind of thing isn’t possible.

Her eyes are wide, and her back is tense as though she had suddenly sat up straight at seeing you. You’re not sure if you should wave, but then you decide that is definitely not a good idea because she quickly looks away from you and returns to her dinner companion. You think you see the ghost of a smile on her face, but you’re probably reading into things. A distant part of your brain notices how incredible she looks, but the far more urgent thought that strikes you is _who is she with?_

You tear your gaze from where they’re seated and greet your colleagues, who’ve already taken it upon themselves to order share plates. You force your brain to focus on the topics at hand, but you can’t keep your eyes from drifting over to the other table from time to time. The girl with Cosima is quite pretty and you absolutely refuse to ask yourself the question that’s been bubbling in your mind ( _is she prettier than me?)_ because you don’t care. It’s irrelevant. You don’t even know Cosima. And you have no right to be jealous of any girl she’s with – not that you’re jealous.

You catch Cosima looking your way a few times, and you can’t help but feel a sense of triumph. That quickly deflates, though, as you see the girl seated with Cosima reach over and squeeze her hand on the table. You feel a rush of emotion, like the air has been sucked from your lungs, and stand abruptly, mumbling something about the bathroom as you stalk away from the table. Mercifully, the bathroom is empty when you walk in. You lean forward, palms resting on the cold concrete of the countertop, and allow your eyes to shut. You take a deep breath, and let it out.

“Hey,” a voice echoes through the bathroom and you yelp. You look up at the mirror and see the reflection of a familiar bespectacled face smiling timidly at you.

“ _Mon dieu_!” you sigh, pressing a hand to your thumping heart as you turn around.

“Are you always this jumpy?” Cosima asks, laughing softly at your outburst.

“Only when people insist on sneaking up on me,” you reply, and you have to work to keep your voice from shaking, to keep your tone cool. Her smile fades a little and you immediately regret what you’ve said.

“Sorry about that,” she says gently, taking a step towards you. “I just didn’t want to miss you before you left.”

Your thoughts are completely unintelligible to you, skipping around before you can even settle on a coherent response. Eventually you manage to say “Oh,” and immediately feel like a complete fool.

“Yeah, see I wanted to tell you that I forgive you for making me feel like a total dickwad the other night,” she announces, and her smile is back. She takes a step forward, and you back up against the counter. “See, I was watching you that night and it wasn’t hard to see how miserable you were with those people. So I get why you wanted to vent about it freely, you know, without me knowing that you were like, the ringleader of the pack.”

You bristle, though her words have also caused you to feel overcome with relief, a strange combination. “I am hardly the ringleader.”

Cosima scoffs, “Puh-lease, they all follow you around like a pack of puppies, even if you’re not technically top dog yet, you will be. You’re totally alpha, in case you didn’t realize.” She shrugs, “It’s pretty incredible actually. I’m into it.” You gape at her, completely unsure if you’re offended or maybe aroused or just generally confused.  Thankfully she saves you from having to reply. “Anyway, since you’re forgiven and all, I was kinda wondering if you wanted to be, like…friends or something.”

She’s twisting her rings around on her hand, and your eyes drop to her fingers before returning to her face. Your mind is ringing with the words _or something._ She’s smiling but she looks vulnerable and hopeful and completely adorable and _merde_ your brain is telling you to shut her down but before you can you hear yourself saying “Sure.” You bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning but it doesn’t work, and you feel the smile spreading across your face as your chest fills with warmth.

“Yeah?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.

You have to duck your head because you feel as though you might do something foolish if you keep looking at her, so you’re looking at your shoes as you nod and say, “Yeah.” You brave looking up at her again and she’s watching you with a strange expression in her eyes.

“Good,” she replies, jamming her hands in her pockets. “I was kind of worried I wouldn’t see you again after that night and I realized I had kind of overreacted, I was just surprised and felt a little dumb but, yeah.” She looks up at you and her dimples are causing you to feel physical pain as she says, “I’m just, really glad I got to see you again.”

“Me too,” you reply, and you wonder if you have suddenly lost the ability to string more than two words together at a time when you betray yourself once more by blurting out “I was thinking about it too. I’m sorry, for not being honest with you.”

Cosima waves her hands in front of her, “Hey, it’s totally cool. Don’t even worry about it.” The silence hangs in the air between you for a moment and you have to curl your fingers into fists because you are incredibly tempted to hoist her tiny body into the sink behind you and press her up against the bathroom mirror. “Anyway, I should get back to my sister,” she says softly, waving a hand over her shoulder. “It’s her birthday.”

“Your sister?” you ask, and you’re kicking yourself because the hope is clear in your voice.

She smirks, “Yeah, she’s two years older. Were you jealous?”

“No!” you reply hastily. But you both know that it’s a lie. You can tell because her eyes are glittering as she looks at you.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll go with that,” she laughs. “Hey are you going to be at the party your firm is throwing this Saturday?” she asks. “I saw the company name on the schedule at work,” she adds, seeing the question on your face.

You weren’t going to go. The party is for the 40th birthday of your most hated coworker, Lydia. She’s priggish, and cruel, and she takes every opportunity she can to cut you down. “Yes, I’ll be there,” you answer.

Cosima’s answering grin is blinding. “Awesome. Okay, well I’ll see you then?”

“Yes, Cosima. See you then.”

She flashes you one last smile and walks out, and you let out a long sigh, hanging your head back in defeat.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The party wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it would be.

Though you were forced to acknowledge that that was likely due to the warm and comforting presence of Cosima rather than a change in your attitude towards your coworkers. Every time you’d felt drained you would return to her at the bar, and she’d managed to make you laugh, or put a smile on your face, and it was like you were a battery that had suddenly been recharged. You’d even found Lydia’s little jibes more bearable than usual. Though her comment about “hiring foreign workers to take over the jobs of native citizens” with a pointed glance in your direction had you headed out for a cigarette. But even in those moments Cosima had come out to keep you company more often than not. Standing so close to you that your arms were touching, and neither of you moving away.

You see her again at the next company party, not long after that. And again two weeks later, at a charity event. In fact, over the next six months, she becomes a regular presence at all of the company’s events, and you’re too shy to ask but you suspect that she has something to do with it. (You eventually interrogate her co-worker Scott one evening and he reluctantly admits that he does the scheduling and she’d uttered several mildly shocking threats towards his various appendages if he didn’t assign her to your firm’s events.) You take her breaks with her, smoking and laughing and learning everything you can about her. She begs you to teach her French but every time her clumsy tongue stumbles over the soft syllables of your native language you want to grab her by her bowtie and roughly kiss her, if only to stop her from butchering the words, so you have to put an end to the lessons.

One evening, as you’re standing with her on yet another balcony (you’re realizing all your favorite moments lately have taken place on one balcony or another), soft music starts filtering out to you from the party. You suddenly feel a warm hand on your waist and before your brain can process what’s happening you’re being spun into Cosima’s arms as you utter a soft “oh!” Your hands have automatically looped around her neck to steady yourself, and she steps closer to place her hands on your waist as she begins swaying in time to the rhythm of the string instruments.

“Sorry,” she grins up at you, almost sheepish. “I just love this song.”

The two of you continue to sway slowly as you try to calm your pounding heart. “Me too,” you reply, completely at a loss to form a coherent sentence with the feeling of Cosima’s breasts crushed against you. You find her ability to render you speechless both thrilling and disconcerting. But you find that the silence between you is easy and comfortable, so you enjoy the moment and loop your arms around her neck a little tighter. It’s the first time since the evening that you met that you’ve touched each other for more than a fleeting moment. You’ve both been avoiding taking things towards the “or something” she had hinted at in the restaurant bathroom, though you couldn’t say just why.

But now, with the feeling of Cosima so warm and solid in your arms, the smell of her skin making your head swim, you’re having a hard time thinking of any reason why you might have been hesitant to touch her. It’s becoming a challenge not to let your hands wander along her back, so instead you satisfy the urge to touch her by softly grazing your thumb along the back of her neck. You feel her shiver in your arms, her grip on your waist tightening. Her reaction to your touch encourages you, and you let your head fall forward until you’re resting your head up against hers, your warm breath rushing over her ear. You can see the gooseflesh rippling across her neck, as her blunt fingernails start to dig slightly into the flesh of your sides. The song is starting to wind down, and her head moves against yours, pulling back until she’s looking up at you with an intensity in her eyes that makes your breath catch. You see her gaze drop to your lips. Your heart is pounding as she starts to move closer.

“Hey Cosima?”

Your heads both whip towards the sound of Scott’s voice, increasing the distance between you without fully letting go. He’s standing at the door to the balcony, an apologetic look on his face. “Yeah Scott?” she asks, an obvious “can’t you see I’m busy” edge to her tone.

Scott pales a little but presses on. “Sorry, I know you have another five minutes on your break but we’re sort of desperate in here.”

You feel rather than hear Cosima sigh, her shoulders raising and then falling in exasperation as your arms are still wrapped around her. “Alright I’m on my way,” she answers, the disappointment clear in her tone. She lets her hands fall from your sides.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t finish our dance,” you say gently.

“Me too,” she answers, “come see me later?”

You nod, and after a few beats she looks up at you with an amused look on her face. You realize far too late that your arms are still wrapped around her, blocking her exit. “Oh!” you half-sigh in embarrassment, dropping your arms from around her neck. Her grin is wide, tongue sticking out from between her teeth before she shakes her head with amusement and turns on her heel.

She gives you her number that night. You take it and try not to betray the fact that your heart is leaping in your chest. But you stop yourself from using it, as badly as you want to. Every time you bring her number up on your phone, you hesitate. Seeing her at the company events is one thing. It’s safe. She’s there to work, you’re there for business. The fact that you enjoy each other’s company is just a bonus, just an added gift. But if you see her outside of this safe space, it will be admitting to something bigger, something more. And it’s too much. So you put your phone down and you wait to see her at the next event.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It’s been over a month.

The last party, she wasn’t there, and when Scott had seen your crestfallen face he’d told you that she’d had exams. You’d tried to act as though you had no idea why he was telling you this, but his gentle, sweet smile told you he knew better. You’ve been worried that Cosima was starting to get frustrated with you, that maybe she’s grown tired of keeping you company while she’s trying to work. Even though you’ve always tried to explain why you haven’t called her yet, you suspect that she doesn’t entirely believe your excuses of being swamped at the office.

So when you walk into the large ballroom – a charity event tonight –you’re so relieved to feel that familiar string tugging at your chest. You turn and see her standing at the bar, bowtie askew, and as always, her eyes are already on you. The night proves to be more taxing than normal, and you find that when you come to see Cosima she’s too swamped with people waiting for drinks to spend much time with you. You go out for a cigarette twice and she doesn’t move from her place at the bar. You feel the anxiety growing in the pit of your stomach and decide that it’s time to stop being such a damned coward and text her something, anything so that she knows that you’re not just using her to keep yourself entertained at parties. The words _I miss you_ drift through your head before you can stop them. You huff out a breath as you bring out your phone, compose three different messages and delete them all.

Just as you’re about to throw your phone off the balcony in frustration, you feel the rush of warm air across your back, and a tell-tale twinge in your chest. You don’t even try to hide the smile that spreads across your face as you spin around to see Cosima standing behind you holding….coats?

You ignore that for the moment, stepping forward instinctively. “There you are. I was just about to text you,” you say in a rush.

Her eyebrows raise, a pleased smile on her face. “You were?” You feel guilty for how surprised she seems. “Sorry I’ve been so busy tonight. Who knew charity work makes people this thirsty?”

“Getting drunk on expensive wine hardly counts as ‘charity work’,” you say wryly.

“Good point,” she agrees with a laugh. “You seemed particularly miserable tonight,” she adds with a sympathetic smile. Lydia has been on your case tonight especially, and without Cosima to run to in between barbs you’re feeling drained.

You shrug, “Well you know, the usual. And I didn’t have my partner in crime butchering my mother tongue to cheer me up this time,” you add.

She laughs, “Well let me make it up to you then.” She holds out the garments in her arms towards you but you simply stare at them, unsure of what she’s asking. “So?” she prompts.

Your eyes flick from the coats, back to Cosima’s face. “So what?” you ask, licking your lips in anticipation.

Cosima grins at you, and it is only then that you notice one of the coats she is holding is your own. “Wanna get out of here?”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Okay, on my signal, you ready?”  
You’re huddled behind Cosima, trying to keep yourself hidden behind her tiny frame as Cosima keeps a lookout from the balcony. It is a little absurd really, considering that you tower over her in your heels, but if you’re going to sneak out unnoticed, you have to at least try to use the resources at hand. Not that you’re not allowed to leave whenever you please, but you’d rather keep the office gossip to a minimum. “Okay, pudgy old dude is engaged in a deep conversation with who I pray is his granddaughter,” Cosima notes. You snort behind her back as she continues. “Aaaand skinny slightly-less old dude is talking down his nose at some poor guy that looks bored to tears,” she observes astutely. “Anyone else we need to avoid?”

“No, those are the big ones,” you confirm.

“Okay then, it’s go time! _Now!_ ” You have to fight to swallow the squeal of excitement that threatens to escape your throat as you and Cosima stalk purposefully towards the exit, hands clasped tightly. On the way past the bar, Cosima ducks down and grabs a bottle of expensive looking wine, shoving it into your waiting hand before tugging you out towards the elevators.

 _“Abort!”_ Cosima hisses, seeing Mr. Medina heading in your direction to see off a guest. She tugs you sharply to the left, away from the main elevators and around the corner, out of sight. You hide in a doorway, pressed tightly to one another as you hear Medina making his long goodbye. You’re trying to ignore the warmth of her body pressed against yours, and you’re doing a poor job of it. You can hear her heart beating gently against your own chest, and you find you have an almost overwhelming urge to place your hand over that rhythmic pulse.

Cosima’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “Come on, let’s try plan B,” she whispers, pulling you further down the hall to an older looking set of service elevators. The doors open immediately and you both shuffle in, leaning against the cool, metal wall and sighing with relief.

Cosima punches the button for the ground floor, “Whew that is close, but thanks to my heroics, Operation French Kiss was a complete success.”

You laugh and duck your head, if only to hide the blush that’s seeping across your face, “Well, partly successful.” You held up the pilfered wine bottle, “This is not a twist-top.”

Cosima digs in her coat pocket and produces a corkscrew, eyebrows raised mischievously as the elevator doors ding open. “What kind of bartender do you think I am?”

“I should never have doubted you,” you grin, allowing the smaller girl to lead you out of the elevator, down a dark hallway, and into the night.

____________________________________________________________________________________

It has just finished raining, the streets slick and shining, the puddles filled with oily, shimmering rainbows. Your shoes smack wetly on the ground as you rush along, and you’re breathless, mind running wild. “Where are we going?” you study Cosima’s profile as the smaller girl’s grin widens, dimples appearing on her cheeks. You realize this is the first time you’ve been outside with her, away from some fancy soiree or another, away from any pretense. The thought makes your breath catch.

“You’ll see. Scott promised me I could have at least an hour before I had to come back and help him with clean up, so we can’t go _too_ too far, but I think this should do nicely.” You round the corner and Cosima stops you in front of a schoolyard. You glance around in confusion before looking at her quizzically. “Just trust me,” is all Cosima says. Leading you by the hand, she pulls you over to the playground and points at one of the swings. “Go ahead.”

You stare at it. “What?”

“Sit! Swing!” Cosima urges, starting to uncork the wine bottle.

“Cosima, I’m 32 years old,” you reply, looking down at yourself, “and hardly dressed for swinging.”

“Come on,” Cosima pops the cork out of the bottle with a soft _plonk_ and takes a swig, “You have an acute case of stuck-up-itis. It’s super contagious. Now, it’s way too late for those poor suckers back there,” she warns, waving a hand in the direction of the building you’ve fled, “but there’s still time to save yourself.” She plunks herself in a swing, bottle of wine dangling from one hand, and kicks off from the ground. “The fastest and most efficient known cure is to act like a kid for an hour.” Her face is blissful, joyous. “So? What’ll it be?”

You huff, struggling forward through the moist sand in your heels, and make your way to the swing next to Cosima. “These are Gucci,” you mutter, sinking down in the swing. “And they do not exactly consider a woman’s hips when designing these things,” you shift uncomfortably as the swing pinches your sides.

“Hush,” Cosima hands you the bottle. “Swing.” You take a drink and do as you’re ordered, shucking off your heels and pressing your bare toes into the sand. You kick off, having to hold your long legs up so your feet don’t drag along the ground. Gaining height, you kick again, handing off the bottle to Cosima as you swing past. You use both hands to pull back on the chains, stretching your long legs forward, letting your expensive dress trail across the sand. All the muscles in your body are loosening, all the tension flowing out of you as you fly through the air. The wind rushes past your ears as you climb higher, push yourself further, inhale the sweet, damp air of the night. You can see the stars showing through some of the clouds, and you keep your gaze fixed on them as you continue to swing, feeling as though you’re flying through space. Away from the firm, away from the gleaming eyes of your coworkers waiting for you to fail. Just flying.

You only slow when your legs start to ache, and your lungs burn with exhilaration. You came to a halt, breathless, hair now loose and wild, cheeks ruddy. You look down at your feet, caked with sand, and laugh at yourself. Cosima, who has been swinging gently next to you, skids to a halt and hands you the wine. You sip it, your breath slowing. “Well?” you ask, “am I cured, do you think?”

Cosima stands, neatly pulling the bottle back out of your hands and twisting it into the sand. “Almost,” she says mysteriously, coming to stand in front of you. You crane your neck to look up at her from your spot on the swing, your eyes tracking her as she comes towards you. Cosima grabs the chains on either side of your face and tilts you back on the swing until your noses are nearly touching. You swallow thickly. “You’ve just got a couple more steps to go, to make sure,” she whispers, and you feel her bottom lip graze yours as she speaks.

“Such as?” you ask, your voice husky, heart pounding.

Cosima grins wickedly and lets go of the swing, taking both her hands and pushing you backwards abruptly. Unprepared as you are for an assault, you don’t have time to save yourself as you fly backwards and feel your back hit the wet sand with a soft thud. Cosima stills the now-empty swing with her hands as she squeals with laughter, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to glare at her from the ground. “You little shit!” You’re about to tell her off some more when Cosima, still giggling, drops to the ground in front of you, knees planted on either side of your hips, and pushes you back, slowly, onto the ground.

You feel your heart in your throat as your body settles in the cool, wet sand. You hear the crunch of it, smell the earthy scent of it, as Cosima presses her hands into the earth on either side of your head, and leans in. You’re in shock that this is happening, that you’re allowing it, that you’ve waited this long. The brunette hesitates for a moment, looking into your eyes, exploring your face. You’re panting with anticipation, and after another beat you bring your head up from the ground to meet Cosima’s lips, impatient.

Your first kiss is not the tentative and exploratory type that first kisses often are, it is powerful and daring. Your legs immediately rise up from the ground, the sides of your knees clamping onto Cosima’s body. You feel Cosima’s pelvis pressing harshly into your own, driving you deeper into the sand as your hands come up to sweep across Cosima’s back. You feel as though your skin, your blood, is on fire, melting away all that numbness, all that ice. Cosima’s hand sweeps up your thigh, her fingers cold on your burning skin. Your head drops back at the feeling of Cosima’s hands on you, your own fingers pulling frantically at the buttons of the brunette’s shirt. You want to see that pale skin exposed to the night sky, you want to taste Cosima’s pulse on your tongue. Your mind is spinning, you never do this, but you feel like she’s been waiting for you, or you’ve been waiting for her, and this doesn’t feel like two people fumbling in a playground, it feels like anything but that.

The theme song from Star Wars cuts through the air, silencing your passionate gasping, stilling your hands. “Ah, fuck!” Cosima swears, sitting upright as her legs still straddle your body. She roots in the back pocket of her pants with an apologetic look on her face and a “just a minute” finger held up in the air. Cursing softly to herself she swipes a thumb across her phone and cradles it to her ear. “Scott this had better be important, I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

 You hear a low voice on the other end of the phone as you lazily trail your fingers up Cosima’s thigh. Cosima’s eyes drop to you for a minute, distracted, before she tears her gaze away from you. “What? No, I’m listening! I’m listening.” Scott continues to talk as you bring your roving fingers up to trail across Cosima’s left breast, letting your fingernails rake across her nipple. Cosima yelps, “Scott! Could you hang on a second?” She holds the phone above her head with one hand as she grabs your wandering fingers with the other and pins your wrist in the sand, sweeping her tongue into your mouth for a slow, thorough kiss.

You let out a moan and Cosima quickly pulls back, covering your mouth with her hand. “Just a minute, baby,” she whispers, her voice low.

You nearly groan at the rush of arousal that the pet name causes to fly through your body. No one has ever called you that in your life. No one has ever dared. You’re practically weeping as Cosima finishes her phone call with Scott, jamming her phone back into her pants pocket and leaning down to place hot kisses along your throat. “I have bad news,” she murmurs between kisses.

“What?” you gasp as Cosima’s tongue sweeps against your earlobe.

“Scott needs my help. Things are getting rowdy and he’s floundering without me.”

“Think of what I’ll be without you,” you whisper in her hear, and she groans.

Cosima sits back up on her knees, head tilted back in frustration. “Why god!?” she half sobs to the stars above you, “Why did you thrust this insanely attractive and amazing woman into my lap and then cock block me so harshly?”

 You sigh, your pelvis throbbing, your lips swollen with kisses. “Do you really have to go right now?”

Cosima looks as though she is in physical pain, “Trust me, I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t have to. But Scott is not only a good friend, he’s also my lab partner, and if I fuck him over now he’ll never let me copy his notes again, so.” She stands slowly, reaching a hand down to help you to your feet. Cosima looks fairly well put together, minus some sand on her forearms and the moisture on the knees of her pants. You on the other hand can feel the piles of sand falling from your body as you stand. Your hair, your bare back, your legs, are absolutely covered. Add in your swing-swept hair and your swollen lips, and you know you must look quite the sight.

You catch Cosima staring at you as you attempt to shake the sand from your hair and stop, placing your hands on your hips rather haughtily for someone who looked so disheveled. “What?”

Cosima bites her lip, ducking her head for a second before meeting your eyes. “Sorry you just look, like, crazy beautiful right now.”

You feel that string, that invisible thread that connects you twist firmly around your heart, once. You let out a laugh of surprise and hold out your hand to Cosima, pull her in for a deep kiss. Once you come up for air, you begin to make your way back along the dark streets, hand in hand.

Cosima clears her throat, “So I guess you probably won’t be coming back inside then, huh?” she asks, reaching over to swipe a streak of mud from your collarbone.

“No, I think that would be…unwise,” you laugh softly.

“Right, no, of course,” Cosima laughs. “This might be hard to explain. Anyway, I was thinking, since we were – you know – like interrupted or whatever, maybe I could take you on an actual date? Sometime?” She has her lips pressed together, and is watching you nervously from the side of her eye.

Your stomach clenches with affection. “Of course, Cosima. I would love to.”

Cosima’s eyebrows shoot up, a wide smile on her face. “Yeah? Cool, alright,” she rubs the back of her neck and tries to hide her beaming smile by looking away. “Awesome.” You’ve reached the outside of the building, a fleet of cabs already waiting to take the drunken party goers home. Cosima walks you to a cab and helps you get in, leaning down with her fingers gripping the open door to press a chaste kiss to your lips. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to grab her by the collar and yank her into the backseat. Instead you reach around to Cosima’s back pocket and pluck her phone out of her pants, punching in your number and handing the phone back with a smile.

“Call me?”

Cosima grins.

“Count on it.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You’ve felt yourself unraveling all week.

It had started when you’d gotten home from that party. You had immediately gone into the bathroom to shower, and that’s when you’d caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The bright, white light concealed nothing. Your dress was ravaged, your hair dishevelled, your creamy skin streaked with mud and sand. You could see that your cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, and your mouth was still holding the echoes of a smile. You looked wild. You looked happy.

It had been that realization that had shaken you so deeply.

As you’d showered away the sandbox’s worth of grime from your body, as you’d crawled into your bed, as you’d slogged through the week in your newly decorated corner office, your mind had been churning. How long had you been unhappy? How could you not have seen it? How could you not have known? How could you have possibly convinced yourself that you were _okay_ in any way at all?Perhaps you’d gotten so used to feeling disconnected, alone. Perhaps it took meeting someone like Cosima to make you see.

For the first time in so long, you care for something. You feel an aching want. You feel an insatiable need. It is as though all of your nerve endings are awakening at once. Your body feels alight with energy, and emotion. Honestly you’re actually a little worried that you’re coming unhinged.

Heaving a heavy sigh in the silence of your office, you let your head fall back onto your chair, dimming the lights to rest your weary eyes. Behind you, a veritable wall of glass shows the glittering skyline of the city. You feel your gaze drawn to your top left drawer, but resolutely refuse to open it. You and Cosima have been texting here and there, and made a plan to get together on the weekend. Well here it is, Friday night, officially the weekend. But you haven’t heard so much as a peep from the girl all day. And you refuse, _refuse_ to text her first. You are no puppy. You’ve been getting more and more frustrated with yourself at your inability to stop from checking your phone for new messages every 3 minutes, so you’d stuck it in your drawer, out of sight. It has now been…37 minutes since you last checked it.

A perfectly reasonable amount of time to wait between phone checking, surely. You reach forward and open your drawer slowly, cautious with your movements. You see you have three new messages, the first is time stamped 33 minutes ago. _Putain!_ You unlock your phone, eyes flying over the messages. One is from your mother, which you promptly ignore. But the other two are from Cosima.

**Hey, gorgeous, you up for dinner tonight?**

And then, seventeen minutes later:

**No big deal if you’re tired from work, we can always see each other tomorrow.**

You sit up straight at that, your thumbs flying across the screen. You’ve already waited so long! You rapidly send off a text indicating that you’re free anytime, then place your phone on your desk and calmly watch it, unblinking.

Nothing.

You blow your breath out in frustration and spin your chair around so you’re looking over the city. Of course the moment you’d decided to show some restraint is the moment Cosima had thought to text you. And now she had probably made other plans. You hear a faint knock on your office door and realize it must already by 730pm. Joel, the janitor, prompt as always. You call for him to come in, but when the door opens, you immediately feel a sharp tug in the centre of your chest, as though a fine thread is yanking on your heart.

You spin the chair around and meet eyes with Cosima, who is standing rather wide-eyed in your doorway. “This is your office? You’re kidding me!” she gasps, her own version of a greeting.

“Cosima!” you sputter, a smile blooming on your face. You have to stop yourself from running across the room, determined to act like a grown woman.

“Hey!” Cosima grins back, shutting the door behind her and making her way across the room. “Man, look at this view! You can totally look over the city from your chair like some villain from a comic book.”

“Yes,” you agree wryly, a wave of affection crashing over you as you see her face lit up, “that is primarily what I spend my time doing.” You stand as Cosima nears, and can no longer stop yourself from reaching out, pulling her in to you as soon as she is within grabbing distance. Cosima loops her arms around your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss, one that promises so much more. You’re both already breathing quickly, just from this minor interaction, and you feel the need to pull back for a moment lest you lose yourself completely. Cosima slides backwards onto your long desk, legs dangling as you sink back into your chair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t contact you earlier,” Cosima says, leaning back on the palms of your hands. Your eyes flicker to her chest that is now arched towards you before forcing yourself to meet her eyes. “I was in class all day, so I didn’t get the chance to text you until the last minute.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” you wave a hand dismissively, your memories of agonizing over your cellphone for the past 8 hours flashing before your eyes.

Cosima smiles, “Good. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by, I didn’t know if you’d had a chance to read my text yet what with you being a super-important big shot lawyer and all, so I thought I’d just pop in.”

You swat her knee at the comment, “No it is a nice surprise. Though I have to ask, how did you get in?” The security in the building is no small thing, you know.

Cosima grins. “I just said I was a friend of yours, and you would be highly unimpressed if you found out that I hadn’t been allowed inside.”

Delphine laughed, “A ‘friend’, hmm? Is that what you are?”

Cosima’s eyes darkened, “Well what should I have said? That I was here to have my way with you on your solid oak desk?”

Your jaw slackens. “Is that why you’re here?”

Cosima’s smile fades, her eyes serious. “It can be.” Your heart is pounding as you watch Cosima slide off the desk, leaning down to rest her hands on the arms of your chair, trapping you. Her nose grazes yours. “See, I was planning on taking you to dinner first, at the very least. But I’m flexible.” Your eyes drop to her mouth as you run a tongue over your bottom lip.

“I’m suddenly not very hungry,” you whisper, grabbing Cosima by the hips and pulling her into your lap. Cosima straddles you, the chair sinking back at the added weight, and grabs a fistful of your carefully straightened hair, sliding her tongue into your mouth without preamble. You hear yourself making a high-pitched whimper, but can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed as every inch of your body is currently aching with the desire to be touched.

Cosima rocks against you, and you’re cursing your decision to wear a pencil skirt today of all days as you realize you’re prevented from spreading your legs apart more than a few inches. Cosima, hands busy unbuttoning your top, seems to realize your struggle and abruptly stands, breaking your kiss wetly. “Get up,” she orders huskily. You’re not used to taking orders, especially not from someone who has to crane her neck to look up at you, but you find a jolt of lust spike through you at her command and stand immediately, kicking off your heels so you’re marginally closer in height. Cosima reaches down, hands on either sides of your thighs, and yanks your skirt up, not stopping until the hem is rucked up to your hips, the slit in the back ripping loudly as she does so.

You growl, pushing Cosima back against the desk and dipping your hand down the back of her pants, grabbing the flesh there. “If you keep this up I won’t have any clothes left,” you scold, kissing her deeply. Cosima laughs into your mouth, running her swift hands over the bare skin of your thighs. You remove your hand from Cosima’s pants and pull the girl’s t-shirt swiftly over her head, tossing it on the chair behind you. You’re about to undo the back of her bra when you feel Cosima’s arm tighten around your waist, cinching you in place as the fingers of her other hand slide between your legs. You have to bite back a deep moan as you feel Cosima’s fingers slick across your clit, dipping down further into the warmth that is waiting there. You feel Cosima’s breath, hot and quick against your chest, as she slides herself inside of you, not bothering to remove the rings that decorate her hand.

Your head falls heavily to Cosima’s shoulder as the brunette enters you fully, the cool metal of her jewellery causing an added, intense sensation as she begins to move her fingers in and out. It is nearly impossible now for you to stop the noises that are erupting from your throat, and you pray that your office mates have gone home for the night. You try to lift your head, kissing Cosima messily, but the feeling of those fingers is so beyond anything you’ve ever felt before that you eventually have to pull back, intent instead on holding on for dear life.

Cosima must sense that your legs are weakening, because she spins you around, her fingers never stopping, and plants you firmly on the desk. You waste no time in sliding back, your legs opening wider as you place your palms behind you. Cosima steps closer between your legs, kissing up the side of your neck as her fingers continue to move. You let your head fall back, hair trailing over various paperwork, eyes rolling back in your head. You hook a leg around Cosima’s body, pulling her so close she has to put a hand on the desk to stay standing, knocking over the tape dispenser noisily into the garbage can. On some distant level you realize that someone may have heard that, and may also come to investigate, but you can’t for the life of you bring yourself to care. Your breath is coming so heavily, your sweaty palms having trouble keeping purchase on the desk, and the noises you’re making are getting louder and louder. “Shhhhh,” Cosima whispers, kissing the spot behind your ear, “someone’s gonna hear you, baby,” she warns.

The term of endearment only makes your groan louder, and you sit up and throw your arms around her, clinging to her as each thrust of her hand makes your body light up. The drawers in your desk are shaking, the mouse from your computer now trailing helplessly over the edge of the wood. “Harder!” you breathe into her ear, your hips moving of their own accord. She nods wordlessly and you grit your teeth, scrunching your eyes shut as Cosima increases the force, your entire body now completely on fire with sensation. Her skin is sticking to yours with sweat, breath coming fast. You, who have never come from penetration alone, are feeling an orgasm starting to build in your belly, in your toes. You hold Cosima tighter, wanting to burrow into her skin, wanting to climb right into her, and you feel Cosima hold you tighter too. “Don’t stop,” you beg.

“I won’t,” Cosima whispers hotly in your ear.

And then she does.

You cry out as you feel Cosima’s hands leave your body, hissing the word “ _Shit!”_ before ducking down behind the desk. In a fraction of a second, you realize what is happening, and hurriedly usher Cosima under your desk as you frantically right your mouse, straightening the various piles of mussed – and you now realize, ruined – paperwork as the door to your office opens. You quickly sink into your chair, the bottom half of your body now concealed beneath your desk, and with it, your ruined skirt.

“Hello Joel,” you greet with what you hope sounds like a normal tone.

The elderly janitor ducks into the room with a friendly wave. “Good evening, Ms. Cormier,” he greets warmly.

You realize that your shirt is unbuttoned halfway down, and you thank every star in heaven that you’d opted to put on a tank top underneath your button-up this morning. You try to subtly do the buttons up as the janitor fusses with the recycling bins by the door. You feel Cosima stirring under the desk against your legs and fight the urge to kick her as Joel continues to divide up the recycling into the appropriate receptacle.

Thankfully, Cosima stops moving, but only because she has apparently gotten in the right position to plant her hot palms on your knees and slowly start to pry them apart. Your eyes widen, and you attempt to keep your knees firmly together, but a couple of warm, wet kisses to your legs have your resolve waning perilously fast. “So how was your Friday?” Joel asks kindly, setting the bins down. You see him going for his feather duster as below you Cosima is placing gentle bites to your inner thighs.

“It was good,” you answer, your voice noticeably higher than normal. “Joel, really, you don’t have to dust the shelves,” you say desperately, Cosima’s hands now gripping your hips, her mouth only inches away from its target.

Joel clucks his tongue, “I haven’t done it all week, Ms. Cormier! What kind of an employee would I be if I let the partners have dusty offices!”

You let out what you pray sounds like a laugh, though there is a definite squeal to it as Cosima’s lips land on your clit. You grip the edges of your desk, knuckles white, and try to focus your gaze on something. You click your mouse, the screen flickering to life, as the blurred image of a legal document swims across your vision.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asks, dusting your bookshelves. One down, three to go.

“Uh, no! No, not really,” you pant, your forehead beading with sweat as Cosima’s tongue sweeps across your clit, down your slick skin. Your hand flies down, gripping onto Cosima’s head, torn between yanking her head back, and pressing it against yourself even harder. “You?”

“Going fishing with my son!” he says proudly, now on his second bookshelf.

“Oh!” you cry, biting your lip. Thankfully the exclamation applies. One of Cosima’s hands drifts from your hip and you feel those fingers entering you again, your nostrils flaring at the sensation. It takes every ounce of strength to keep yourself from crying out as Cosima’s tongue and fingers bring you ever closer to your lost orgasm. Your eyes flick to Joel, who is just about to complete the third bookshelf, and you rearrange your features into something that you hope resembles a normal expression.

“Do you want me to empty your garbage bin?” he asks, indicating the trash can that is sitting directly next to your desk.

“No!” you yelp, Joel stopping in his tracks. You smile, or attempt to. “Sorry, I just meant that, it’s fine, it’s pretty much empty. But thank you!”

He looks at you skeptically and you clamp your legs around Cosima’s head, forcing her to stop momentarily. “Are you alright, Ms. Cormier? You look a bit flushed. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

You nod, “You might be right. I’m going to head home after I finish this up,” you gesture to your computer.

He smiles, “Well alright. You work too hard, young lady,” he chides paternally. Your whole body relaxes as you see him wheel his cart towards the door. “Have a great weekend,” he calls over his shoulder.

“You too, Joel. Thank you!” you reply. The second the door has closed you roll your chair backwards, looking down to see Cosima grinning at you lecherously.

“I am going to kill you,” you gasp. Cosima laughs. “But only after you finish,” you add.

Cosima immediately grabs your hips and pulls you back in place, her hot mouth pressing open kisses between your legs. You shut your eyes, grabbing a fistful of dreads as your hips begin to move in time with Cosima’s fingers. You have never been so aroused, so desperately in need of release, in your entire life. You have been brought to the edge twice in the past 20 minutes, and your entire body feels as though it is a giant ball of unreleased tension. Cosima’s tongue rakes over your body, every sweep bringing you closer to your unraveling. You reach up and grab the back of the chair above your head with one hand, using the other to press Cosima’s mouth harder against your body. You feel yourself holding your breath in anticipation of the electricity building in your belly, until finally, _finally_ a bolt of lightning rockets through your body, bathing every cell, every synapse, in a wave of incredible pleasure.

You clamp you own hand over your mouth to muffle the scream that bursts out of you as you release the back of Cosima’s head. Cosima lets her head rest on the inside of your thigh as she watches you come down from your high. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the playground,” she says gently as you pull her up and into your lap. She straddles you again and rests her forehead against yours as your breathing slows.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a lot longer,” you confess.

She looks at you with surprise and arousal in her face. “Me too,” she agrees, bumping her nose to your own gently. “I just didn’t want to sound like a creep.” You chuckle and pull her against you, fingers trailing along her back as you sit in comfortable silence for a minute. “I don’t know what it is about you,” Cosima eventually continues, pulling her head back to run her eyes over your face. She has her arms thrown around your neck, her thumb grazing your hairline.

“What do you mean?” you ask, tightening your grip on her hips.

She shakes her head with an almost dazed smile on her face. “I don’t know. You’ve done something to me. Changed me.” You feel your breathing hitch. “It’s not just that you’re like, stupidly beautiful,” she says offhandedly, almost to herself. You drop your gaze shyly for a moment before looking again at her face, and she looks determined to figure you out. “It’s that you’re like…It’s like I always knew you, you know?” You nod, because you actually do, you _know_ and it’s incredible and it’s terrifying. “It’s like we’re connected, here.” She points to your heart, then draws a line in the air back to her own chest. She shakes her head and starts to laugh. “I swear I’m usually more coherent than this. Not much,” she admits, “but still.”

“I feel it too,” you admit. She looks relieved, and you realize she’s probably been worrying that she’s alone in her feelings. You lean forward and kiss her slowly, pouring all your reassurances that she is not alone into the kiss. When you pull back she’s looking at you strangely again. “So what do we do?” you ask. You’ve only known her for a few months but you realize that she already has the power to hurt you, and it makes your breath come faster.

“Well,” she starts, and you see the beginnings of a smile growing on her lips. She kisses your neck and your arousal comes flooding back as if you hadn’t just had one of the best orgasms of your life only 15 minutes ago. “I don’t know about you, but like, as a scientist I have an obligation to explore this new phenomenon.” She presses more kisses to your throat, your collarbone, and her squirming movements in your lap are making your thoughts slur together. “This connection I mean. See, neither of us can explain it, but we can obviously feel it, and I would be remiss as a woman of science if I didn’t do everything in my power to figure it out.”

“What do you suggest?” you ask, your voice husky as you grip her hips and press her harder into your lap, suck her earlobe into your mouth.

She yelps and you grin, pressing your nose into the space behind her ear. “Well, we’ll probably want to start by spending like, a lot of time together,” she suggests, sliding one hand from around your neck to squeeze your breast over your shirt. You sigh loudly, and nod in agreement. “And we’ll probably want to have as much sex as possible, just to explore that aspect of it,” she adds. You hum your agreement as you drop kisses down the side of her neck and unhook the back of her bra through her shirt.

“And what if you never figure it out?” you ask, sliding your hands under her shirt to push her bra out of the way, swiping your thumbs across her nipples. She jerks in your lap and lets out a hiss.

“Well that’s the beauty of a scientific experiment,” she pants, rolling her hips into yours as you continue to touch her breasts under her shirt. “Even the lack of a result is a result, see?”

“Mm, not really, but I’m willing to trust you on this one,” you laugh softly as you lift her shirt and pull one of her nipples into your mouth. The realization that you actually _do_ trust her strikes you so abruptly that you release her with a wet smacking sound, your head coming up to look her in the eye. You can’t remember the last time that you really trusted anyone. Your coworkers, your competitive friends, even your own parents. They’d all wanted something from you. But Cosima seems willing to give all of herself to you with no ulterior motives, nothing she might want in return.

She brings her head up from where it had fallen back as you’d begun to tease her with your tongue, looking at you with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

You nod, feeling almost too emotional to speak.  

Taking a breath, you look at her for a long moment before you answer her, and the honesty in your reply is as tangible as the connection that hovers in the air between you.

“ _Yes_.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr @danger-eux


End file.
